
Class TK4 2.S 
Book ^Z2_ 



GopyrightN°_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



PRACTICE 
BOOK 



Leland Powers School 

of THE 

Spoken Word 



Thomas Groom & Co., Inc. 

Boston, Mass. 

1905. 






Copies iMG I 



OCT S 190* 

„ Qowngnt antra _ 

5 J,. a./. /•»«*: 



COP* B» 



Copyright, 1905, 
By Lkland Powers. 



V 



IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 



JVlY gratitude to publishers who have generously 
permitted the reprinting of copyrighted selections, 
I would here publicly express. To Little, Brown & 
Company I am indebted for the use of the extract 
called " Eloquence/' which is taken from a discourse 
by Daniel Webster ; to Small, Maynard & Company 
for the poem "A Conservative," taken from a volume 
by Mrs. Oilman, entitled "In This Our World"; 
to the Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company for the 
poems by Mr. Burton ; and to Longmans, Green & 
Company for the extracts from the works of John 
Ruskin. The selections from Sill and Emerson are 
used by permission of, and by special arrangement 
with Houghton, Mifflin & Company, publishers of 
their works. 

Leland Powers. 



INDEX. 







PAGE 


Across the Fields to Anne, Richard Burton . 


26 


Brook, The 


Alfred, Lord Tennyson 


20 


Cavalier Tunes . 


Robert Brozvning 


24 


I. Give a Rouse. 






II. Boot and Saddle. 






Columbus . 


Joaquin Miller 


. 46 


Coming of Arthur, The 


Alfred. Lord Tennyson 


59 


Conservative, A 


Charlotte Perkins Gilman 


55 


Each and All . 


Ralph Waldo Emerson 


44 


Elaine 


Alfred, Lord Tennyson 


69 


Eloquence . 


Daniel Webster 


36 


Fezziwig Ball, The . 


Charles Dickens . 


17 


Five Lives . 


Edward Rowland Sill . 


57 


Green Things Growing 


Dinah Mulock Craik . 


2% 


Herve Riel 


Robert Browning 


7 


If We Had the Time 


Richard Burton . 


77 


Lady of Shalott, The 


• Alfred^ Lord Tennyson 


70 


Laughing Chorus, A . 


. 


23 


Life and Song . 


Sidney Lanier 


35 


Lochinvar . 


Sir Walter Scott 


13 


My Last Duchess 


Robert Browning 


48 


My Star 


Robert Browning 


54 


Pipfa Passes, extracts from , 


Robert Browning 


16 


I. "Day". 






II. "The Year's at the i 


Spring ". 




Rhodora, The . 


Ralph Waldo Emerson 


43 


Romance of the Swan's 






Nest, The . 


Elizabeth Barrett Browning . 


50 


Scene from David Copfer- 






field, I, 


Charles Dickens . 


80 


Scene from David Copper- 






field, II. 


Charles Dickens . 


86 



Index. 



Scene from King Henry IV. 
— "Falstaft's Recruits" . 
Scene from the Shaughraun, 
Self-Reliance . 
True Use of Wealth, The, 
Truth at Last . 



William Shakespeare . 
Boucicault 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 
John Ruskin 
Edward Rowland Sill . 



Work John Ruskin 



78 
89 
40 
29 

37 
38 



Herve Riel. 



HERVE RIEL. 

On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred 

ninety-two, 
Did the English fight the French, — woe to France ! 
And the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through 

the blue, 
Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of 

sharks pursue, 
Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the 

Ranee, 

With the English fleet in view. 



'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in 

full chase ; 
First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, 
Damfreville ; 

Close on him fled, great and small, 
Twenty-two good ships in all ; 
And they signalled to the place, 
" Help the winners of a race ! 
Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick — or 
quicker still, 

Here 's the English can and will ! " 



Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt 
on board ; 



8 Herve Riel. 

" Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to 

pass?" laughed they : 
" Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage 

scarred and scored, 
Shall the ' Formidable ' here, with her twelve and 

eighty guns, 
Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow 

way, 
Trust to enter where 't is ticklish for a craft of twenty 
tons, 

And with flow at full beside? 
Now 't is slackest ebb of tide. 
Reach the mooring? Rather say, 
While rock stands or water runs, 
Not a ship will leave the bay ! " 

Then was called a council straight. 
Brief and bitter the debate : 
" Here 's the English at our heels ; would you have 

them take in tow 
All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern 
and bow, 

For a prize to Plymouth Sound ? — 
Better run the ships aground ! " 
(Ended Damfreville his speech.) 
" Not a minute more to wait ! 
Let the captains all and each 
Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the 
beach ! 

France must undergo her fate. 



Herve Riel. 9 

" Give the word ! " — But no such word 
Was ever spoke or heard ; 
For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all 

these 
A captain? A lieutenant? . A mate — first, second, 
third? 

No such man of mark, and meet 
With his betters to compete ! 
But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for 

the fleet — 
A poor coasting pilot he, Herve Riel the Croisickese. 

And u What mockery or malice have we here ? " cries 

Herve Riel ; 
"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, 

fools, or rogues ? 
Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the 

soundings, tell 
On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell, 
'Twixt the ofnng here and Greve, where the river 

disembogues ? 
Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the 

lying's for? 

Morn and eve, night and day, 
Have I piloted your bay, 
Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. 
Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse 

than fifty Hogues ! 
Sirs, they know I speak the truth ! Sirs, believe me 

there 's a way ! 



10 Herve Riel. 

Only let me lead the line, 
Have the biggest ship to steer, 
Get this t Formidable ' clear, 
Make the others follow mine, 

And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I 
know well, 

Right to Solidor, past Greve, 
And there lay them safe and sound ; 
And if one ship misbehave, — 
Keel so much as grate the ground, 

Why, I Ve nothing but my life, — and here 's my 
head ! " cries Herve Riel. 



Not a minute more to wait. 

" Steer us in, then, small and great ! 
Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron ! M 
cried its chief. 

" Captains, give the sailor place ! 

He is Admiral, in brief." 

Still the north-wind, by God's grace ! 

See the noble fellow's face 

As the big ship, with a bound, 

Clears the entry like a hound, 
Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide 
sea's profound ! 

See, safe through shoal and rock, 

How they follow in a flock. 
Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates 
the ground, 



Herve Riel. 11 

Not a spar that comes to grief ! 
The peril, see, is past, 
All are harbored to the last, 
And just as Herve Riel hollas " Anchor ! " — sure 
as fate, 

Up the English come, too late. 



So, the storm subsides to calm ; 

They see the green trees wave 

On the heights o'erlooking Greve. 

Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. 

li Just our rapture to enhance, 

Let the English rake the bay, 

Gnash their teeth and glare askance 

As they cannonade away ! 
'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the 

Ranee ! " 
Now hope succeeds despair on each captain's counte- 
nance ! 

Out burst all with one accord, 

This is Paradise for hell ! 

Let France, let France's king, 

Thank the man that did the thing ! " 

What a shout, and all one word, 
Herve Riel ! " 

As he stepped in front once more, 

Not a symptom of surprise 

In the frank blue Breton eyes, 

Just the same man as before. 



12 Herve Riel. 

Then said Damfreville, " My friend, 
I must speak out at the end, 
Though I find the speaking hard. 
Praise is deeper than the lips ; 
You have saved the King his ships, 
You must name your own reward. 
Faith, our sun was near eclipse ! 
Demand whate'er you will, 
France remains your debtor still. 
Ask to heart's content, and have ! or my name 's not 
Damfreville ! " 

Then a beam of fun outbroke 
On the bearded mouth that spoke, 
As the honest heart laughed through 
Those frank eyes of Breton blue : 
M Since I needs must say my say, 
Since on board the duty 's done, 

And from Malo roads to Croisic Point what is it but 
a run ? — 

Since 'tis ask and have, I may — 
Since the others go ashore — 
Come ! A good whole holiday ! 

Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle 
Aurore ! " 

That he asked, and that he got — nothing 
more. 

Name and deed alike are lost : 
Not a pillar nor a post 



Lochinvar. 13 

In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it 

befell ; 
Not a head in white and black 
On a single fishing-smack, 
In memory of the man but for whom had gone to 

wrack 
All that France saved from the fight whence England 
bore the bell. 

Go to Paris ; rank on rank 
Search the heroes flung pell-mell 
On the Louvre, face and flank ! 
You shall look long enough ere you come to Herve 
Riel. 

So, for better and for worse, 
Herve Riel, accept my verse ! 
In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more 
Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the 
Belle Aurore ! 

Robert Browning. 

LOCHINVAR. 

i. 
UH, young Lochinvar is come out of the West, — 
Through all the wild border his steed was the best ! 
And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had 

none, — 
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 



14 Lochinvar. 

ii. 
He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for 

stone ; 
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none. 
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 
The bride had consented, the gallant came late ; 
For a laggard in love and a dastard in war 
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

in. 
So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 
'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and 

all: 
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword 
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word) 
" Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ? " 

IV. 

" I long wooed your daughter — my suit you denied ; 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ; 
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 

v. 
The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up ; 
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 



Lochinvar. 15 

She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, 
With a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar ; 
"Now tread we a measure ? " said young Lochinvar. 

VI. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 
That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 
While her mother did fret and her father did fume, 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 

plume. 
And the bride-maidens whispered, " Twere better 

by far 
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochin- 
var." 

VII. 

One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, 
When they reach the hall door, and the charger 

stood near ; 
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung : 
" She is won ! we are gone ! over bank, bush, and 

scar; 
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young 

Lochinvar. 

VIII. 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby 

clan ; 
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and 

they ran ; 



16 Extracts from Pippa Passes. 

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee ; 
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? 

Sir Walter Scott. 

EXTRACTS FROM PIPPA PASSES. 
I. "DAY:' 
DAY! 

Faster and more fast ; 
O'er night's brim, day boils at last : 
Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim 
Where spurting and suppressed it lay, 
For not a froth-flake touched the rim 
Of yonder gap in the solid gray 
Of the eastern cloud, an hour away ; 
But forth one wavelet, then another, curled, 
Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed, 
Rose, reddened, and its seething breast 
Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the 
world. 

Oh Day, if I squander a wavelet of thee, 

A mite of my twelve -hours' treasure, 

The least of thy gazes or glances, 

(Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above 

measure) 
One of thy choices or one of thy chances, 



The Fezziwig Ball. 17 

(Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks at thy 

pleasure) 
— My Day, if I squander such labor or leisure, 
Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me ! 

Robert Browning. 

II. "THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING." 

The year 's at the spring 
And day 's at the morn ; 
Morning 'a at seven ; 
The hillside's dew-pearled ; 
The lark 's on the wing ; 
The snail 's on the thorn : 
God's in his heaven — 
All's right with the world ! 

Robert Browning. 

THE FEZZIWIG BALL. 

OLD Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at 
the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He 
rubbed his hands ; adjusted his capacious waistcoat ; 
laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ 
of benevolence \ and called out in a comfortable, 
oily, rich, fat, jovial voice : " Yo ho, there ! Eben- 
ezer ! Dick ! " 

A living and moving picture of Scrooge's former 
self, a young man, came briskly in, accompanied by 
his fellow-prentice. 



18 The Fezziwig Ball. 

" Yo ho, my boys ! " said Fezziwig. " No more 
work to-night. Christmas eve, Dick. Christmas, 
Ebenezer ! Let 's have the shutters up, before a man 
can say Jack Robinson ! Clear away, my lads, and 
let 's have lots of room here ! " 

Clear away ! There was nothing they would n't 
have cleared away, or couldn't have cleared away, 
with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a 
minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were 
dismissed from public life forevermore ; the floor 
was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed 
fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse 
was as snug and warm and dry and bright a ball-room 
as you would desire to see upon a winter's night. 

In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up 
to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and 
tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezzi- 
wig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three 
Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the 
six young followers whose hearts they broke. In 
came all the young men and women employed in the 
business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin 
the baker. In came the cook, with her brother's 
particular friend the milkman. In they all came one 
after another ; some shyly, some boldly, some grace- 
fully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; 
in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they 
all went, twenty couple at once ; hands half round 
and back again the other way ; down the middle and 
up again; round and round in various stages of 



The Fezziwig Ball. 19 

affectionate grouping ; old top couple always turning 
up in the wrong place ; new top couple starting off 
again, as soon as they got there; all top couples at 
last, and not a bottom one to help them. When this 
result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his 
hands to stop the dance, cried out, " Well done ! " 
and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of 
porter especially provided for that purpose. 

There were more dances, and there were forfeits, 
and more dances, and there was cake, and there was 
negus, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, 
and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there 
were mince-pies, and plenty of beer. But the great 
effect of the evening came after the Roast and Boiled, 
when the fiddler struck up " Sir Roger de Coverley." 
Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. 
Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a good stiff piece 
of work cut out for them ; three or four and twenty 
pair of partners ; people who were not to be trifled 
with ; people who would dance, and had no notion of 
walking. 

But if they had been twice as many, — four times, 
— old Fezziwig would have been a match for them 
and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to her, she was 
worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. 
A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig's 
calves. They shone in every part of the dance. 
You could n't have predicted, at any given time, what 
would become of 'em next. And when old Fezziwig 
and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance, — 



20 The Brook. 

advance and retire, turn your partner, bow and cour- 
tesy, corkscrew, thread the needle and back again to 
your place, — Fezziwig "cut," — cut so deftly, that 
he appeared to wink with his legs. 

When the clock struck eleven this domestic ball 
broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their sta- 
tions, one on either side the door, and, shaking 
hands with every person individually as he or she 
went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. 
When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, 
they did the same to them ; and thus the cheerful 
voices died away, and the lads were left to their 
beds, which were under a counter in the back shop. 



THE BROOK. 

i. 
I COME from haunts of coot and hern, 

I make a sudden sally, 
And sparkle out among the fern, 

To bicker down a valley. 

ii. 
By thirty hills I hurry down, 

Or slip between the ridges ; 
By twenty thorps, a little town, 

And half a hundred bridges. 



The Brook. 21 



in. 
chatter over stony ways, 

In little sharps and trebles, 
I bubble into eddying bays, 
I babble on the pebbles. 

IV. 

With many a curve my banks I fret 
By many a field and fallow, 

And many a fairy foreland set 

With willow-weed and mallow. 

v. 
I chatter, chatter, as I flow 

To join the brimming river ; 
For men may come, and men may go, 

But I go on forever. 

VI. 

I wind about, and in and out, 
With here a blossom sailing, 

And here and there a lusty trout, 
And here and there a grayling. 

VII. 

And here and there a foamy flake 

Upon me as I travel, 
With many a silvery water-break 

Above the golden gravel. 



22 The Brook. 

VIII. 

I steal by lawns and grassy plots, 
I slide by hazel covers, 

I move the sweet forget-me-nots 
That grow for happy lovers. 

rx. 

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 

Among my skimming swallows ; 

I make the netted sunbeam dance 
Against my sandy shallows. 



I murmur, under moon and stars 

In brambly wildernesses, 
I linger by my shingly bars, 

I loiter round my cresses. 

XI. 

And out again I curve and flow 
To join the brimming river ; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



A Laughing Chorus. 23 



A LAUGHING CHORUS. 

[Used by permission, frcm ''Nature in Verse," copyrighted 
1895,' bv Silver, Burdett & Company.] 

vJH, such a commotion under the ground 

When March called, " Ho, there ! ho ! " 
Such spreading of rootlets far and wide, 

Such whispering to and fro. 
And "Are you ready?" the Snowdrop asked ; 

" 'Tis time to start* you know." 
" Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied ; 

"I'll follow as soon as you go." 
Then, "Ha ! ha ! ha ! " a chorus came 

Of laughter soft and low 
From the millions of flowers under the ground — 

Yes — millions — beginning to grow. 

<r I'll promise my blossoms," the Crocus said, 

" When I hear the bluebirds sing." 
And straight thereafter Narcissus cried, 

" My silver and gold I'll bring." 
"And ere they are dulled," another spoke, 

" The Hyacinth bells shall ring." 
And the violet only murmured, " I'm here," 

And sweet grew the breath of spring. 
Then, u Ha ! ha ! ha ! a chorus came 

Of laughter soft and low 
From the millions of flowers under the ground — 

Yes — millions — beginning to grow. 



24 Cavalier Tunes. 

Oh, the pretty, brave things ! through the coldest 
days, 

Imprisoned in walls of brown, 
They never lost heart, through the blast shriek 
loud, 

And the sleet and the hail came down, 
But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress, 

Or fashioned her beautiful crown ; 
And now they are coming to brighten the world, 

Still shadowed by winter's frown ; 
And well may they cherily laugh, u Ha ! ha ! " 

In a chorus soft and low, 
The millions of flowers hid under the ground — 

Yes — millions — beginning to grow. 



CAVALIER TUNES. 

I. GIVE A ROUSE. 

KlNG CHARLES, and who'll do him right now? 
King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? 
Give a rouse : here 's, in hell's despite now, 
King Charles ! 

Who gave me the goods that went since ? 
Who raised me the house that sank once ? 
Who helped me to gold I spent since? 
Who found me in wine you drank once? 



Cavalier Tunes. 25 

Cho. King Charles, and who '11 do him right now? 
King Charles, and who 's ripe for fight now? 
Give a rouse : here 's, in hell's despite now, 
King Charles ! 

To whom used my boy George quaff else, 
By the old fool's side that begot him ? 
For whom did he cheer and laugh else, 
While Noll's damned troopers shot him? 

Cho. King Charles, and who '11 do him right now? 
King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? 
Give a rouse : here % in hell's despite now, 
King Charles ! 

II. BOOT AND SADDLE. 

Boot, saddle, to horse, and away ! 
Rescue my castle before the hot day 
Brightens to blue from its silvery gray. 

Cho. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away ! 

Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you 'd say ; 
Many 's the friend there, will listen and pray 
11 God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay — 

Cho. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away ! " 

Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, 

Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundhead's array : 

Who laughs, " Good fellows ere this, by my fay, 

Cho. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away ! " 



26 Across the Fields to Anne. 

Who ? My wife Gertrude ; that, honest and gay, 
Laughs when you talk of surrendering, " Nay ! 
I Ve better counsellors ; what counsel they? 

Cho. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away ! " 

Robert Browning. 



& 



ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE. 

From Stratford-on-Avon a lane runs westward 
through the fields a mile to the little village of 
Shottery, in which is the cottage of Anne Hathaway, 
Shakespeare's sweetheart and wife. 

OOW often in the summer tide, 

His graver business set aside, 

Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed, 

As to the pipe of Pan 

Stepped blithesomely with lover's pride 

Across the fields to Anne ! 

It must have been a merry mile, 
This summer-stroll by hedge and stile, 
With sweet foreknowledge all the while 
How sure the pathway ran 
To dear delights of kiss and smile, 
Across the fields to Anne. 



Across the Fields to Anne. 27 

The silly sheep that graze to-day, 

I wot, they let him go his way, 

Nor once looked up, as who should say : 

"It is a seemly man." 

For many lads went wooing aye 

Across the fields to Anne. 



The oaks, they have a wiser look ; 
Mayhap they whispered to the brook : 
" The world by him shall yet be shook, 
It is in nature's plan ; 
Though now he fleets like any rook 
Across the fields to Anne." 



And I am sure, that on some hour 
Coquetting sofr 'twixt sun and shower, 
He stooped and broke a daisy-flower 
With heart of tiny span, 
And bore it as a lover's dower 
Across the fields to Anne. 



While from her cottage garden-bed 
She plucked a jasmine's goodlihede, 
To scent his jerkin's brown instead ; 
Now since that love began, 
What luckier swain than he who sped 
Across the fields to Anne? 



28 Green Things Growing. 

The winding path whereon I pace, 

The hedgerows green, the summer's grace, 

Are still before me face to face ; 

Methinks I almost can 

Turn poet and join the singing race 

Across the fields to Anne ! 

Richard Burton. 

GREEN THINGS GROWING. 

1 HE green things growing, the green things growing, 
The faint sweet smell of the green things growing ! 
I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve, 
Just to watch the happy life ©f my green things growing. 

Oh the fluttering and the pattering of those green 

things growing ! 
How they talk each to each, when none of us are 

knowing \ 
In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight 
Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing. 

I love, I love them so — my green things growing ! 
And I think that they love me, without false showing; 
For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much, 
With the soft mute comfort of green things growing. 

And in the rich store of their blossoms glowing, 
Ten for one I take they 're on me bestowing : 



The True Use of Wealth. 29 

Oh, I should like to see, if God's will it may be, 
Many, many a summer of my green things growing ! 

But if I must be gathered for the angels* sowing, 
Sleep out of sight awhile, like the green things growing, 
Though dust to dust return, I think I '11 scarcely mourn, 
If I may change into green things growing. 

Dinah Mulock Craik. 



THE TRUE USE OF WEALTH. 

i. There is a saying which is in all good men's 
mouths ; namely, that they are stewards or ministers 
of whatever talents are entrusted to them. Only, is 
it not a strange thing that while we more or less 
accept the meaning of that saying, so long as it is 
considered metaphorical, we never accept its mean- 
ing in its own terms? You know the lesson is given 
us under the form of a story about money. Money 
was given to the servants to make use of : the un- 
profitable servant dug in the earth, and hid his Lord's 
money. Well, we in our poetical and spiritual appli- 
cation of this, say that of course money does n't mean 
money — it means wit, it means intellect, it means 
influence in high quarters, it means everything in the 
world except itself. 

2. And do you not see what a pretty and pleasant 
come-off there is for most of us in this spiritual appli- 



30 The True Use of Wealth. 

cation? Of course, if we had wit, we would use it for 
the good of our fellow-creatures ; but we have n't wit. 
Of course, if we had influence with the bishops, we 
would use it for the good of the church ; but we 
haven't any influence with the bishops. Of course, 
if we had political power, we would use it for the good 
of the nation ; but we have no political power ; we 
hate no talents entrusted to us of any sort or kind. 
It is true, we have a little money, but the parable 
can't possibly mean anything so vulgar as money ; 
our money 's our own. 

3. I believe, if you think seriously of this matter, 
you will feel that the first and most literal application 
is just as necessary a one as any other — that the 
story does very specially mean what it says — plain 
money; and that the reason we don't at once believe 
it does so, is a sort of tacit idea that while thought, 
wit and intellect, and all power of birth and position, 
are indeed given to us, and, therefore, to be laid out 
for the Giver, — our wealth has not been given to us ; 
but we have worked for it, and have a right to spend 
it as we choose. I think you will find that is the 
real substance of our understanding in this matter. 
Beauty, we say, is given by God — it is a talent ; 
strength is given by God — it is a talent ; but money 
is proper wages for our day's work — it is not a tal- 
ent, it is a due. We may justly spend it on our- 
selves, if we have worked for it. 

4. And there would be some shadow of excuse for 
this, were it not that the very power of making the 



The True Use of Wealth. 31 

money is itself only one of the applications of that 
intellect or strength which we confess to be talents. 
Why is one man richer than another? Because he is 
more industrious, more persevering, and more saga- 
cious. Well, who made him more persevering and 
more sagacious than others ? That power of endur- 
ance, that quickness of apprehension, that calmness 
of judgment, which enable him to seize opportunities 
that others lose, and persist in the lines of conduct in 
which others fail — are these not talents? — are they 
not. in the present state of the world, among the most 
distinguished and influential of mental gifts? 

5. And is it not wonderful, that while we should be 
utterly ashamed to use a superiority of body in order 
to thrust our weaker companions aside from some 
place of advantage, we unhesitatingly use our superi- 
orities of mind to torust them back from whatever 
good that strength of mind can attain? You would 
be indignant if you saw a strong man walk into a 
theatre or lecture-room, and, calmly choosing the 
be 5 t place, take his feeble neighbor by the shoulder, 
and turn him out of it into the back seats or the 
street. You would be equally indignant if you saw a 
stout fellow thrust himself up to a table where some 
hungry children are being fed. and reach his arm 
over their heads and take their bread from them 

6. But you are not the least indignant, if, when a 
man has stoutness of thought and swiftness of capac- 
ity, and, instead of being long-armed only, has the 
much greater gift of being long-headed — you think 



32 The True Use of Wealth. 

it perfectly just that he should use his intellect to take 
the bread out of the mouths of all the other men in 
the town who are in the same trade with him ; or use 
his breadth and sweep of sight to gather some branch 
of the commerce of the country into one great cob- 
web, of which he is himself the central spider, mak- 
ing every thread vibrate with the points of his claws, 
and commanding every avenue with the facets of his 
eyes. You see no injustice in this. 

7. But there is injustice ; and, let us trust, one of 
which honorable men will at no very distant period 
disdain to be guilty. In some degree, however, it is 
indeed not unjust ; in some degree it is necessary 
and intended. It is assuredly just that idleness 
should be surpassed by energy ; that the widest influ- 
ence should be possessed by those who are best able 
to wield it ; and that a wise man, at the end of his 
career, should be better off than a fool. But for that 
reason, is the fool to be wretched, utterly crushed 
down, and left in all the suffering which his conduct 
and capacity naturally inflict? Not so. 

8. What do you suppose fools were made for? 
That you might tread upon them, and starve them, 
and get the better of them in every possible way? 
By no means. They were made that wise people 
might take care of them. That is the true and plain 
fact concerning the relations of every strong and wise 
man to the world about him. He has his strength 
given him, not that he may crush the weak, but that 
he may support and guide them. In his own house- 



The True Use of Wealth. 33 

hold he is to be the guide and the support of his 
children ; out of his household he is still to be the 
father, that is, the guide and support, of the weak and 
the poor \ not merely of the meritoriously weak and 
the innocently poor, but of the guilty and punishably 
poor ; of the men who ought to have known better — 
of the poor who ought to be ashamed of themselves. 

9. It is nothing to give pension and cottage to the 
widow who has lost her son ; it is nothing to give food 
and medicine to the workman who has broken his 
arm, or the decrepid woman wasting in sickness. But 
it is something to use your time and strength in war 
with the waywardness and thoughtlessness of mankind ; 
to keep the erring workman in your service till you 
have made him an unerring one ; and to direct your 
fellow-merchant to the opportunity which his dullness 
would have lost. 

10. This is much ; but it is yet more, when you 
have fully achieved the superiority which is due to 
you, and acquired the wealth which is the fitting 
reward of your sagacity, if you solemnly accept the 
responsibility of it, as it is the helm and guide of labor 
far and near. For you who have it in your hands, 
are in reality the pilots of the power and effort of the 
State. It is entrusted to you as an authority to be 
used for good or evil, just as completely as kingly 
authority was ever given to a prince, or military com- 
mand to a captain. And according to the quantity 
of it you have in your hands, you are arbiters of the 
will and work of the nation ; and the whole issue, 



34 The True Use of Wealth. 

whether the work of the State shall suffice for the 
State or not, depends upon you. 

ii. You may stretch out your scepter over the 
heads of the laborers, and say to them, as they stoop 
to its waving, " Subdue this obstacle that has baffled 
our fathers ; put away this plague that consumes our 
children ; water these dry places, plough these desert 
ones, carry this food to those who are in hunger ; 
carry this light to those who are in darkness ; carry 
this life to those who are in death ; " or on the other 
side you may say : " Here am I ; this power is in my 
hand; come, build a mound here for me to be 
throned upon, high and wide ; come, make crowns 
for my head, that men may see them shine from far 
away ; come, weave tapestries for my feet, that I may 
tread softly on the silk and purple; come, dance 
before me, that I may be gay; and sing sweetly to 
me, that I may slumber ; so shall I live in joy, and 
die in honor.'* And better than such an honorable 
death it were, that the day had perished wherein we 
were born. 

12. I trust that in a little while there will be few 
of our rich men, who, through carelessness or covet- 
ousness, thus forfeit the glorious office which is in- 
tended for their hands. I said, just now, that wealth 
ill-used was as the net of the spider, entangling and 
destroying ; but wealth well-used, is as the net of the 
sacred Fisher who gathers souls of men out of the 
deep. A time will come — I do not think it is far 
from us — when this golden net of the world's wealth 



Life and Song. 35 

will be spread abroad as the flaming meshes of morn- 
ing cloud over the sky ; bearing with them the joy of 
light and the dew of the morning, as well as the sum- 
mons to honorable and peaceful toil. 

John Ruskin. 

LIFE AND SONG. 

[This poem is taken from "The Poems of Sidney Lanier," 
copyrighted 1891, and published by Charles Scribner's 
Sons.] 

IF life were caught by a clarionet, 

And a wild heart, throbbing in the reed, 

Should thrill its joy and trill its fret, 
And utter its heart in every deed, 

" Then would this breathing clarionet 

Type what the poet fain would be ; 
For none o' the singers ever yet 
Has wholly lived his minstrelsy, 

"Or clearly sung his true, true thought, 
Or utterly bodied forth his life, 
Or out of life and song has wrought 
The perfect one of man and wife ; 

" Or lived and sung, that Life and Song 
Might each express the other's all, 
Careless if life or art were long 

Since both were one, to stand or fall : 



36 Eloquence. 

u So that the wonder struck the crowd, 
Who shouted it about the land : 
His song was only living aloud, 

His work, a singing with his hand/" 

Sidney Lanier. 

ELOQUENCE. 

i. When public bodies are to be addressed on 
momentous occasions, when great interests are at 
stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable 
in speech farther than as it is connected with high 
intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, 
and earnestness are the qualities which produce con- 
viction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in 
speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and 
learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. 
Words and phrases may be marshalled in every way, 
but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man 
in the subject, and in the occasion. 

2. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp 
of declamation, all may aspire to it ; they cannot reach 
it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of 
a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of vol- 
canic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. 
The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments 
and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust 
men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, 
their children, and their country, hang on the decision 



Truth at Last. 37 

of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric 
is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even 
genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the 
presence of higher qualities. 

3. Then patriotism is eloquent ; then self-devotion 
is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning deduc- 
tions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the 
dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from 
the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole 
man onward, right onward to his object, — this, this is 
eloquence ; or rather it is something greater and higher 
than all eloquence, — it is action, noble, sublime, god- 
like action. 

Daniel Webster. 

TRUTH AT LAST. 

L/OES a man ever give up hope, I wonder, — 
Face the grim fact, seeing it clear as day? 
When Bennen saw the snow slip, heard its thunder 
Low, louder, roaring round him, felt the speed 
Grow swifter as the avalanche hurled downward, 
Did he for just one heart-throb — did he indeed 
Know with all certainty, as they swept onward, 
There was the end, where the crag dropped away ? 
Or did he think, even till they plunged and fell, 
Some miracle would stop them ? Nay, they tell 
That he turned round, face forward, calm and pale, 
Stretching his arms out toward his native vale 



38 Work. 

As if in mute, unspeakable farewell, 
And so went down. — 'T is something if at last, 
Though only for a flash, a man may see 
Clear- eyed the future as he sees the past, 
From doubt, or fear, or hope's illusion free. 

Edward Rowland Sill. 



* 



WORK. 

i. What is wise, work, and what is foolish work? 
What the difference between sense and nonsense, in 
daily occupation? There are three tests of wise 
work : — that it must be honest, useful, and cheerful. 

It is Honest. I hardly know anything more strange 
than that you recognize honesty in play, and do not 
in work. In your lightest games, you have always 
some one to see what you call "fair-play." In 
boxing, you must hit fair ; in racing, start fair. Your 
English watchword is (i fair -flay" your English 
hatred, " foul- flay" Did it never strike you that 
you wanted another watchword also. " fair-work" 
and another and bitterer hatred, — "foul-work"? 

2. Then wise work is Useful. No man minds, or 
ought to mind, its being hard, if only it comes to 
something ; but when it is hard and comes to nothing, 
when all our bees' business turns to spiders', and for 
honey-comb we have only resultant cobweb, blown 
away by the next breeze, — that is the cruel thing for 



Work. 39 

the worker. Yet do we ever ask ourselves, personally, 
or even nationally, whether our work is coming to 
anything or not ? 

3. Then wise work is Cheerful, as a child's work 
is. Everybody in this room has been taught to pray 
daily, "Thy Kingdom come." Now if we hear a 
man swearing in the streets we think it very wrong, 
and say he u takes God's name in vain." But there 's 
a twenty times worse way of taking his name in vain 
than that. It is to ask God for what we don't want. 
If you don't want a thing don't ask for it : such 
asking is the worst mockery of your King you can 
insult Him with. If you do not wish for His kingdom, 
don't pray for it. But if you do, you must do more 
than pray for it ; you must work for it. And, to work 
for it, you must know what it is. 

4. Observe, it is a Kingdom that is to come to us ; 
we are not to go to it. Also it is not to come all at 
once, but quietly ; nobody knows how. " The Kingdom 
of God cometh not with observation." Also, it is not 
to come outside of us, but in our hearts : " The 
Kingdom of God is within you." Now if we want to 
work for this Kingdom, and to bring it, and to enter 
into it, there 's one curious condition to be first 
accepted. We must enter into it as children, or not 
at all ; " Whosoever will not receive it as a little child 
shall not enter therein." And again, " Suffer little 
children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for 
of such is the Kingdom of Heaven" 

5. Of such, observe. Not of children themselves, 



40 Self -Reliance. 

but of such as children. It is the character of chil- 
dren we want and must gain. It is modest, faithful, 
loving, and because of all these characters it is cheer- 
ful. Putting its trust in its father, it is careful for 
nothing — being full of love to every creature, it is 
happy always, whether in its play or in its duty. 
Well, that 's the great worker's character also. Tak- 
ing no thought for the morrow ; taking thought only 
for the duty of the day ; knowing indeed what labor 
is, but not what sorrow is ; and always ready for play 
— beautiful play. 

John Ruskin. 



SELF-RELIANCE. 

i. To believe your own thought, to believe that 
what is true for you in your private heart is true for 
all men } — that is genius. 

Speak your latent conviction, and it shall be the 
universal sense ; for the inmost in due time becomes 
the outmost, and our first thought is rendered back 
to us by the trumpets of the Last Judgment. Famil- 
iar as the voice of the mind is to each, the highest 
merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato and Milton is that 
they all set at naught books and tradition, and spoke 
not what men but what they thought. 

2. A man should learn to detect and watch that 
gleam of light which flashes across his mind from 
within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards 



Self -Reliance. 41 

and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his 
thought, because it is his. In every work of genius 
we recognize our own rejected thoughts ; they come 
back to us with a certain alienated majesty. 

3. Great works of art have no more affecting les- 
son for us than this. They teach us to abide by our 
spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexi- 
bility then most when the whole cry of voices is on 
the other side. Else to-morrow a stranger will say 
with masterly good sense precisely what we have 
thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced 
to take with shame our own opinion from another. 

4. There is a time in every man's education when 
he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance ; 
that imitation is suicide ; that he must take himself 
for better for worse as his portion ; that though the 
wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing 
corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed 
on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. 
The power which resides in him is new in nature, and 
none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor 
does he know until he has tried. 

5. Not for nothing one face, one character, one 
fact makes much impression on him, and another 
none. This sculpture in the memory is not without 
preestablished harmony. The eye was placed where 
one ray should fall, that it might testify of that par- 
ticular ray. 

6. We but half express ourselves, and we are 
ashamed of that divine idea which each of us repre- 



42 Self -Reliance. 

sents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate and 
of good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God 
will not have his work made manifest by cowards. A 
man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart 
into his work and done his best ; but what he has 
said or done otherwise shall give him no peace. It 
is a deliverance which does not deliver. In the 
attempt his genius deserts him ; no muse befriends ; 
no invention, no hope. 

7. Trust thyself : every heart vibrates to that iron 
string. Accept the place the divine providence has 
found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the 
connection of events. Great men have always done 
so, and confided themselves childlike to the genius 
of their age, betraying their perception that the abso- 
lutely trustworthy was seated at their heart, working 
through their hands, predominating in all their being. 

8. And we are now men, and must accept in the 
highest mind the same transcendent destiny ; and not 
minors and invalids in a protected corner, not cow- 
ards fleeing before a revolution, but guides, redeem- 
ers and benefactors, obeying the Almighty effort, and 
advancing on Chaos and the Dark. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



The Rhodora. 43 



THE RHODORA:— 

ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THIS FLOWER ? 

IN May, when sea- winds pierced our solitudes, 
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, 
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 
To please the desert and the sluggish brook. 
The purple petals, fallen in the pool, 
Made the black water with their beauty gay ; 
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, 
And court the flower that cheapens his array. 
Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why 
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, 
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, 
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being : 
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose ! 
I never thought to ask, I never knew : 
But in my simple ignorance, suppose 
The self-same Power that brought me there brought 
you. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



44 Each and All. 



EACH AND ALL. 

LlTTLE thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown, 

Of thee from the hill- top looking down ; 

The heifer that lows in the upland farm, 

Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm ; 

The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, 

Deems not that great Napoleon 

Stops his horse, and lists with delight, 

Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height ; 

Nor knowest thou what argument 

Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. 

All are needed by each one ; 

Nothing is fair or good alone. 

I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, 

Singing at dawn on the alder bough ; 

I brought him home, in his nest, at even ; 

He sings the song, but it cheers not now, 

For I did not bring home the river and sky ; — 

He sang to my ear, — they sang to my eye. 

The delicate shells lay on the shore ; 
The bubbles of the latest wave 
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, 
And the bellowing of the savage sea 
Greeted their safe escape to me. 
I wiped away the weeds and foam, 
I fetched my sea-born treasures home ; 



Each and All. 45 

But the poor, unsightly, noisome things 

Had left their beauty on the shore 

With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar. 

The lover watched his graceful maid, 

As 'mid the virgin train she strayed, 

Nor knew her beauty's best attire 

Was woven still by the snow-white choir. 

At last she came to his hermitage, 

Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage ; — 

The gay enchantment was undone ; 

A gentle wife, but fairy none. 

Then I said " I covet truth ; 

Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat ; 

I leave it behind with the games of youth : " — 

As I spoke, beneath my feet 

The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, 

Running over the club-moss burrs ; 

I inhaled the violet's breath ; 

Around me stood the oaks and firs ; 

Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground ; 

Over me soared the eternal sky, 

Full of light and of deity ; 

Again I saw, again I heard, 

The rolling river, the morning bird ; — 

Beauty through my senses stole ; 

I yielded myself to the perfect whole. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



46 Columbus. 



COLUMBUS. 

[This poem is taken from the complete works of Joaquin Miller, 
copyrighted, published by the Whitaker Ray Company, San 
Francisco.] 

BEHIND him lay the gray Azores, 

Behind the gates of Hercules ; 
Before him not the ghost of shores, 

Before him only shoreless seas. 
The good mate said, " Now must we pray, 

For lo ! the very stars are gone. 
Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say?" 

" Why, say, ' Sail on ! sail on ! and on ! ' " 

" My men grow mutinous by day, 

My men grow ghastly pale and weak." 
The stout mate thought of home ; a spray 

Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. 
" What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, 

If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" 
" Why, you shall say at break of day, 

1 Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! and on ! ' " 



They sailed, and sailed, as winds might blow, 
Until at last the blanched mate said : 

" Why, now, not even God would know 
Should I and all my men fall dead. 



Columbus. 47 

These very winds forget their way, 

For God from these dread seas has gone. 

Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say " — 
He said, " Sail on ! sail on ! and on ! " 



They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate : 

44 This mad sea shows its teeth to-night. 
He curls his lips, he lies in wait 

With lifted teeth as if to bite ! 
Brave Admiral, say but one good word : 

What shall we do when hope is gone ? " 
The words leapt like a leaping sword, 

" Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! and on ! " 



Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, 

And peered through darkness. Ah, that night 
Of all dark nights ! And then a speck — 

A light ! A light ! A light ! A light ! 
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled ! 

It grew to be Time's burst of dawn, 
He gained a world ; he gave that world 

Its grandest lesson : " On ! sail on ! " 

Joaquin Miller. 



48 My Last Duchess. 



MY LAST DUCHESS. 

FERRARA. 

1 HAT'S my last Duchess painted on the wall, 
Looking as if she were alive. I call 
That piece a wonder, now ; Fra Pandolf's hands 
Worked busily a day, and there she stands. 
Wiirt please you sit and look at her? I said 
" Fra Pandolf " by design, for never read 
Strangers like you that pictured countenance, 
The depth and passion of its earnest glance, 
But to myself they turned (since none puts by 
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) 
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, 
How such a glance came there ; so, not the first 
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not 
Her husband's presence only, called that spot 
Of joy into the Duchess' cheek : perhaps 
Fra. Pandolf chanced to say, " Her mantle laps 
" Over my Lady's wrist too much," or " Paint 
" Must never hope to reproduce the faint 
u Half-flush that dies along her throat " : such stuff 
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough 
For calling up that spot of joy. She had 
A heart — how shall I say? — too soon made glad, 
Too easily impressed ; she liked whate'er 
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. 



My Last Duchess. 49 

Sir, 'twas all one ! My favor at her breast, 

The dropping of the daylight in the West, 

The bough of cherries some officious fool 

Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule 

She rode with round the terrace — all and each 

Would draw from her alike the approving speech, 

Or blush, at least. She thanked men, — good ! but 

thanked 
Somehow — I know not how — as if she ranked 
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name 
With anybody's gift. Who 'd stoop to blame 
This sort of trifling ? Even had you skill 
In speech — (which I have not) — to make your will 
Quite clear to such an one, and say " Just this 
" Or that in you disgusts me ; here you miss, 
" Or there exceed the mark " — and if she let 
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set 
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, 
— E'en then would be some stooping ; and I choose 
Never to stoop. Oh, Sir, she smiled, no doubt, 
W'hene'er I passed her ; but who passed without 
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave com- 
mands i 
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands 
As if alive. Will 't please you rise ? We '11 meet 
The company below, then. I repeat 
The Count your Master's known munificence 
Is ample warrant that no just pretence 
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed ; 
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed 



50 The Romance of the Swan's Nest. 

At starting, is my object. Nay, we '11 go 
Together down, Sir. Notice Neptune, though, 
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, 
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me ! 

Robert Browning. 



THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST. 
Little eihc sits alone 

'Mid the beeches of a meadow, 
By a stream-side on the grass, 
And the trees are showering down 

Doubles of their leaves in shadow 
On her shining hair and face. 

She has thrown her bonnet by, 

And her feet she has been dipping 
In the shallow water's flow : 
Now she holds them nakedly 

In her hands, all sleek and dripping, 
While she rocketh to and fro. 

Little Ellie sits alone, 

And the smile she softly uses 

Fills the silence like a speech, 
While she thinks what shall be done, 
And the sweetest pleasure chooses 
For her future within reach. 



The Romance of the Swan's Nest. 51 

Little Ellie in her smile 

Chooses — ' I will have a lover 
Riding on a steed of steeds : 
He shall love me without guile, 
And to him I will discover 

The swan's nest among the reeds. 

'And the steed shall be red-roan, 
And the lover shall be noble, 

With an eye that takes the breath : 
And the lute he plays upon 

Shall strike ladies into trouble, 

As his sword strikes men to death. 

'And the steed it shall be shod 
All in silver, housed in azure, 

And the mane shall swim the wind ; 
And the hoofs along the sod 

Shall flash onward and keep measure, 
Till the shepherds look behind. 

1 But my lover will not prize 

All the glory that he rides in, 
When he gazes in my face : 
He will say, M O Love, thine eyes 

Build the shrine my soul abides in, 
And I kneel here for thy grace ! " 

1 Then, ay, then he shall kneel low, 

With the red-roan steed anear him, 
Which shall seem to understand, 



52 The Romance of the Swan's Nest. 

Till I answer, " Rise and go ! 

For the world must love and fear him 
Whom I gift with heart and hand." 

1 Then he will arise so pale, 

I shall feel my own lips tremble 
With a yes I must not say, 
Nathless maiden-brave, " Farewell," 
I will utter, and dissemble — 

" Light to-morrow with to-day ! " 

' Then he '11 ride among the hills 

To the wide world past the river, 
There to put away all wrong ; 
To make straight distorted wills, 

And to empty the broad quiver 
Which the wicked bear along. 

4 Three times shall a young foot-page 

Swim the stream and climb the mountain 
And kneel down beside my feet — 
"Lo, my Master sends this gage, 
Lady, for thy pity's counting ! 

What wilt thou exchange for it?" 

' And the first time I will send 

A white rose bud for a guerdon, 
And the second time, a glove ; 
But the third time — I may bend 

From my pride, and answer — " Pardon 
If he comes to take my love." 



The Romance of the Swan's Nest. 53 

1 Then the young foot-page will run, 
Then my lover will ride faster, 
Till he kneeleth at my knee : 
"lama duke's eldest son, 

Thousand serfs do call me master 
But, O Love, I love but thee!" 

' He will kiss me on the mouth 
Then, and lead me as a lover 

Through the crowds that praise his deeds ; 
And when soul-tied by one troth, 
Unto him I will discover 

That swan's nest among the reeds/ 

Little Ellie, with her smile 

Not yet ended, rose up gaily, 

Tied the bonnet, donned the shoe, 
And went homeward, round a mile, 
Just to see, as she did daily, 

What more eggs were with the two. 

Pushing through the elm-tree copse, 

Winding up the stream, light-hearted, 
Where the osier pathway leads, 
Past the boughs she stoops — and stops. 
Lo, the wild swan had deserted, 

And a rat had gnawed the reeds ! 

Ellie went home sad and slow. 
If she found the lover ever, 

With his red-roan steed of steeds, 



54 My Star. 

Sooth, I know not ; but I know 

She could never show him — never, 

That swan's nest among the reeds ! 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



MY STAR. 

ALL that I know 
Of a certain star 
Is, it can throw 

(Like the angled spar) 
Now a dart of red, 

Now a dart of blue, 
Till my friends have said 
They would fain see, too, 
My star that dartles the red and the blue ! 
Then it stops like a bird ; like a flower, hangs furled : 
They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. 
What matter to me if their star is a world ? 
Mine has opened its soul to me ; therefore I love it. 

Robert Browning. 



A Conservative. 55 



A CONSERVATIVE. 

1 HE garden beds I wandered by 
One bright and cheerful morn, 

When I found a new-fledged butterfly 
A-sitting on a thorn, 

A black and crimson butterfly, 
All doleful and forlorn. 

I thought that life could have no sting 

To infant butterflies, 
So I gazed on this unhappy thing 

With wonder and surprise, 
While sadly with his waving wing 

He wiped his weeping eyes. 

Said I, "What can the matter be? 

Why weepest thou so sore ? 
With garden fair and sunlight free 

And flowers in goodly store — " 
But he only turned away from me 

And burst into a roar. 

Cried he, " My legs are thin and few 
Where once I had a swarm ! 

Soft fuzzy fur — a joy to view — 
Once kept my body warm, 



56 A Conservative. 

Before these flapping wing-things grew, 
To hamper and deform ! " 

At that outrageous bug I shot 

The fury of mine eye ; 
Said I, in scorn all burning hot, 

In rage and anger high, 
11 You ignominious idiot ! 

Those wings are made to fly ! " 

"I do not want to fly/' said he, 

11 I only want to squirm ! " 
And he drooped his wings dejectedly, 

But still his voice was firm ; 
"I do not want to be a fly ! 

I want to be a worm ! " 

yesterday of unknown lack ! 

To-day of unknown bliss ! 

1 left my fool in red and black, 

The last I saw was this, — 
The creature madly climbing back 
Into his chrysalis. 

Charlotte Perkins Gilman. 



Five Lives. 57 



FIVE LIVES. 

r IVE mites of monads dwelt in a round drop 
That twinkled on a leaf by a pool in the sun. 
To the naked eye they lived invisible ; 
Specks, for a world of whom the empty shell 
Of a mustard-seed had been a hollow sky. 

One was a meditative monad, called a sage ; 
And, shrinking all his mind within, he thought : 
" Tradition, handed down for hours and hours, 
Tells that our globe, this quivering crystal world. 
Is slowly dying. What if, seconds hence, 
When I am very old, yon shimmering dome 
Come drawing down and down, till all things end?" 
Then w T ith a weazen smirk he proudly felt 
No other mote of God had ever gained 
Such giant grasp of universal truth. 

One was a transcendental monad ; thin 
And long and slim in the mind ; and thus he mused : 
"Oh, vast, unfathomable monad-souls ! 
Made in the image " — a hoarse frog croaks from the 

pool — 
11 Hark ! 't was some god, voicing his glorious thought 
In thunder music ! Yea, we hear their voice, 
And we may guess their minds from ours, their work. 



58 Five Lives. 

Some taste they have like ours, some tendency 
To wiggle about, and munch a trace of scum." 
He floated up on a pin-point bubble of gas 
That burst, pricked by the air, and he was gone. 

One was a barren-minded monad, called 
A positivist ; and he knew positively : 
u There is no world beyond this certain drop. 
Prove me another ! Let the dreamers dream 
Of their faint gleams, and noises from without, 
And higher and lower; life is life enough." 
Then swaggering half a hair's breadth, hungrily 
He seized upon an atom of bug and fed. 

One was a tattered monad, called a poet ; 
And with shrill voice ecstatic thus he sang : 
u Oh, the little female monad's lips ! 
Oh, the little female monad's eyes ! 
Ah, the little, little, female, female monad ! " 

The last was a strong-minded monadess, 
Who dashed amid the infusoria, 
Danced high and low, and wildly spun and dove 
Till the dizzy others held their breath to see. 

But while they led their wondrous little lives 
Ionian moments had gone wheeling by. 
The burning drop had shrunk with fearful speed ; 
A glistening film — 'twas gone ; the leaf was dry. 



The Coming of Arthur. 59 

The little ghost of an inaudible squeak 
Was lost to the frog that goggled from his stone ; 
Who, at the huge, slow tread of a thoughtful ox 
Coming to drink, stirred sideways fatly, plunged, 
Launched backward twice, and all the pool was still. 

Edward Rowland Sill. 



THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

\AMdgedS\ 

LEODOGRAN, the King of Cameliard, 
Had one fair daughter, and none other child \ 
And she was fairest of all flesh on earth, 
Guinevere, and in her his one delight. 

For many a petty king ere Arthur came 
Ruled in this isle and, ever waging war 
Each upon other, wasted all the land ; 
And still from time to time the heathen host 
Swarm'd over seas, and harried what was left. 
And so there grew great tracts of wilderness, 
Wherein the beast was ever more and more, 
But man was less and less. 



And thus the land of Cameliard was waste, 
Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein, 
And none or few to scare or chase the beast ; 



60 The Coming of Arthur. 

So that wild dog and wolf and boar and bear 
Came night and day, and rooted in the fields, 
And wallow'd in the gardens of the King, 

And King Leodogran 
Groan'd for the Roman legions here again 
And Caesar's eagle 

He knew not whither he should turn for aid. 

But — for he heard of Arthur newly crown'd, 
— the King 

Sent to him, saying, * Arise, and help us thou ! 

For here between the man and beast we die.' 

And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms, 
But heard the call and came : and Guinevere 
Stood by the castle walls to watch him pass ; 
But since he neither wore an helm or shield 
The golden symbol of his kinglihood, 
But rode a simple knight among his knights, 
And many of these in richer arms than he, 
She saw him not, or marked not, if she saw, 
One among many, tho' his face was bare. 
But Arthur, looking downward as he past, 
Felt the light of her eyes into his life 
Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitch'd 
His tents beside the forest. Then he drave 
The heathen ; after, slew the beast, and fell'd 
The forest, letting in the sun, and made 



The Coining of Arthur. 61 

Broad pathways for the hunter and the knight, 
And so returned. 

For while he linger'd there, 
A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts 
Of those great lords and barons of his realm 
Flashed forth and into war ; for most of these, 
Colleaguing with a score of petty kings, 
Made head against him, crying : " Who is he 
That should rule us ? Who hath proven him 
King Uther'sson?" 

And, Arthur, passing thence to battle, felt 
Travail, and throes and agonies of the life, 
Desiring to be join'd with Guinevere, 
And thinking as he rode : " Her father said 
That there between the man and beast they die. 
Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts 
Up to my throne and side by side with me ? 
What happiness to reign a lonely king ? 

But were I join'd with her, 
Then might we live together as one life, 
And reigning with one will in everything 
Have power on this dark land to lighten it, 
And power on this dead world to make it live." 



When Arthur reached a field of battle bright 
With pitch'd pavilions of his foe, the world 



62 The Coming of Arthur. 

Was all so clear about him that he saw 
The smallest rock far on the faintest hill, 
And even in high day the morning star. 

. But the Powers who walk the world, 
Made lightnings and great thunders over him, 

And dazed all eyes, till Arthur by main might, 
And mightier of his hands with every blow, 
And leading all his knighthood, threw the kings. 

• •««•■•• 
So like a painted battle the war stood 
Silenced, the living quiet as the dead, 
And in the heart of Arthur joy was lord. 



Then quickly from the foughten field he sent 
Sir Bedivere 

to King Leodogran, 

Saying, " If I in aught have served thee well, 
Give me thy daughter Guinevere to wife." 

Whom when he heard, Leodogran in heart 
Debating — H How should I that am a king, 
However much he holp me at my need, 
Give my one daughter saving to a king, 
And a king's son? " — lifted his voice, and calPd 
A hoary man, his chamberlain, to whom 
He trusted all things, and of him required 
His counsel : c< Knowest thou aught of Arthur's birth ? " 



The Coming of Arthur. 63 
Then while the King debated with himself, 
there came to Cameliard, 

Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent ; 

Whom the King 

Made feast for, saying, as they sat at meat : 

1 Ye come from Arthur's court. Victor his men 
Report him ! Yea, but ye — think ye this king — 
So many those that hate him, and so strong, 
So few his knights, however brave they be — 
Hath body enow to hold his foeman down ? ' 

'O King,' she cried, 'and I will tell thee : few, 
Few, but all brave, all of one mind with him ; 
For I was near him when the savage yells 
Of Uther's peerage died, and Arthur sat 
Crowned on the dais, and all his warriors cried, 
" Be thou the King, and we will work thy will 
Who love thee." Then the King in low deep tones, 
And simple words of great authority, 
Bound them by so straight vows to his own self 
That when they rose, knighted from kneeling, some 
Were pale as at the passing of a ghost, 
Some flush'd, and others dazed, as one who wakes 
Half blinded at the coming of a light. 

1 But when he spake, and cheer'd his Table Round 
With large, divine, and comfortable words, 



64 The Coming of Arthur. 

Beyond my tongue to tell thee — I beheld 
From eye to eye thro' all their Order flash 
A momentary likeness of the King ; 



'And there I saw mage Merlin, whose vast wit 
And hundred winters are but as the hands 
Of loyal vassals toiling for their liege. 

'And near him stood the Lady of the Lake, 
Who knew a subtler magic than his own — 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. 
She gave the King his huge cross-hilted sword, 
Whereby to drive the heathen out : a mist 
Of incense curl'd about her, and her face 
Wellnigh was hidden in the minster gloom ; 
But there was heard among the holy hymns 
A voice as of the waters, for she dwells 
Down in a deep — calm, whatsoever storms 
May shake the world — and when the surface rolls, 
Hath power to walk the waters like our Lord.' 

Thereat Leodogran rejoiced, but thought 
To sift his doubtings to the last, and ask'd, 
Fixing full eyes of question on her face, 
1 The swallow and the swift are near akin, 
But thou art closer to this noble prince, 
Being his own dear sister ; ' 

* What know I ? 



The Coming of Arthur. 65 

For dark my mother was in eyes and hair, 
And dark in hair and eyes am I ; 

yea and dark was Uther too, 
Wellnigh to blackness ; but this king is fair 
Beyond the race of Britons and of men. 

1 But let me tell thee now another tale : 

on the night 

When Uther in Tintagil past away 

Moaning and wailing for an heir, Merlin 

Left the still King, and passing forth to breathe, 

Beheld, so high upon the dreary deeps 
It seem'd in heaven, a ship, the shape thereof 
A dragon wing'd, and all from stem to stern 
Bright with a shining people on the decks, 
And gone as soon as seen. . . He 
watch'd the great sea fall, 
Wave after wave, each mightier than the last, 
Till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep 
And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged 
Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame : 
And down the wave and in the flame was borne 
A naked babe, and rode to Merlin's feet, 
Who stoopt and caught the babe, and cried, "The 
King ! " 

And presently thereafter follow'd calm, 

Free sky and stars : " And this same child," he said, 



66 The Coming of Arthur. 

u Is he who reigns. " .... 

. And ever since the Lords 
Have foughten like wild beasts among themselves, 
So that the realm has gone to wrack ; but now, 
This year, when Merlin — for his hour had come — 
Brought Arthur forth, and set him in the hall, 
Proclaiming, " Here is Uther's heir, your King," 
A hundred voices cried : " Away with him ! 
No king of ours ! " . . . ' . 

Yet Merlin thro' his craft, 
And while the people clamor'd for a king, 
Had Arthur crown'd ; but after, the great lords 
Banded, and so brake out in open war. 

and Merlin in our time 
Hath spoken also, 

Tho' men may wound him that he will not die, 
But pass, again to come, and then or now 
Utterly smite the heathen under foot, 
Till these and all men hail him for their king/ 

. King Leodogran rejoiced, 
But musing t Shall I answer yea or nay ? ' 
Doubted, and drowsed, nodded and slept, and saw, 
Dreaming a slope of land that ever grew, 
Field after field, up to a height, the peak 
Haze-hidden, and thereon a phantom king, 
Now looming, and now lost ; and on the slope 



The Coming of Arthur. 67 

The sword rose, the hind fell, the herd was driven, 

Fire glimpsed ; and all the land from roof and rick, 

In drifts of smoke before a rolling wind, 

StreanYd to the peak, and mingled with the haze 

And made it thicker ; while the phantom king 

Sent out at times a voice ; and here or there 

Stood one who pointed toward the voice, the rest 

Slew on and burnt, crying, ' No king of ours, 

No son of Uther, and no king of outs' ; 

Till with a wink his dream was changed, the haze 

Descended, and the solid earth became 

As nothing, but the king stood out in heaven, 

Crown'd. And Leodogran awoke, and sent 

Back to the court of Arthur answering yea. 

Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he loved 
And honor'd most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forth 
And bring the Queen, and watched him from the gates ; 
And Lancelot past away among the flowers — 
For then was latter April — and return'd — 
Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere. 
To whom arrived, by Dubric the high saint, 
Chief of the church in Britain, and before 
The stateliest of- her altar-shrines, the King 
That morn was married, while in stainless white, 
The fair beginners of a noble time, 
And glorying in their vows and him, his knights 
Stood round him, and rejoicing in his joy. 
Far shone the fields of May thro' open door, 



68 The Coming of Arthur. 

The sacred altar blossom'd white with May, 
The sun of May descended on their King, 
They gazed on all earth's beauty in their Queen, 
Roll'd incense, and there past along the hymns 
A voice as of the waters, while the two 
Sware at the shrine of Christ a deathless love. 
And Arthur said, i Behold, thy doom is mine. 
Let chance what will, I love thee to the death ! ' 
To whom the Queen replied with drooping eyes, 
' King and my Lord, I love thee to the death ! ' 
And holy Dubric spread his hands and spake : 
1 Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world 
Other, and may thy Queen be one with thee, 
And all this Order of thy Table Round 
Fulfil the boundless purpose of their King ! ' 

And Arthur's knighthood sang before the King : — 

1 Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May I 
Blow trumpet, the long night hath roll'd away / 
Blow thro' the living world — "Let the King reign I " 

'Shall Rome or Heathen rule in Arthur's realm ? 
Flash brand and lance, fall battle-axe on helm, 
Fall battle-axe, and flash brand I Let the King reign / 

'Strike for the King and live ! his knights have 
heard 
That God hath told the King a secret word. 
Fall battle-axe, and flash brand ! Let the King reign I 



Elaine. 69 

* Strike for the King and die ! and if thou diest, 
The King is kin*, and ever wills the highest. 
Clang battle-axe* and clash brand ! Let the King 

reign ! 

'The King will follow Christ, and we the King, 
In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing. 
Fall battle-axe, and clash brand! Let the King 

reign I ' 

And Arthur and his knighthood for a space 
Were all one will, and thro' that strength the King 
Drew in the petty princedoms under him, 
Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame 
The heathen hordes, and made a realm and reign'd. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



ELAINE. 

ELAINE the fair, Elaine the lovable, 

Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, 

High in her chamber up a tower to the east 

Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot ; 

Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray 

Might strike it, and awaken her with the gleam ; 

Then fearing rust or soilure, fashion'd for it 

A case of silk, and braided thereupon 

All the devices blazon'd on the shield 



70 The Lady of Shalott. 

In their own tinct, and added, of her wit, 
A border fantasy of branch and flower, 
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest. 
Nor rested thus content, but day by day 
Leaving her household and good father, climb'd 
That eastern tower, and entering barr'd the door, 
Stript off the case, and read the naked shield, 
Now guess'd a hidden meaning in his arms, 
Now made a pretty history to herself 
Of every dint a sword had beaten in it, 
And every scratch a lance had made upon it, 
Conjecturing when and where : this cut is fresh ; 
That ten years back ; this dealt him at Caerlyle ; 
That at Cearleon ; this at Camelot ; 
And ah, God's mercy, what a stroke was there ! 
And here a thrust that might have kill'd, but God 
Broke the strong lance and roll'd his enemy down, 
And saved him ; so she lived in fantasy, 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 

J* 

THE LADY OF SHALOTT. 

PART I. 

ON either side the river lie 
Long fields of barley and of rye, 
That clothe the wold and meet the sky; 
And thro' the field the road runs by 
To many-tower'd Camelot ; 



The Lady of Shalott. 71 

And up and down the people go, 
Gazing where the lilies blow 
Round an island there below, 
The island of Shalott. 

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, 
Little breezes dusk and shiver 
Thro' the wave that runs for ever 
By the island in the river 

Flowing down to Camelot. 
Four gray walls, and four gray towers, 
Overlook a space of flowers, 
And the silent isle imbowers 

The Lady of Shalott. 

By the margin, willow-veiPd, 
Slide the heavy barges traiPd 
By slow horses ; and unhail'd 
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd 

Skimming down to Camelot : 
But who hath seen her wave her hand ? 
Or at the casement seen her stand? 
Or is she known in all the land, 

The Lady of Shalott? 

Only reapers, reaping early 
In among the bearded barley, 
Hear a song that echoes cheerly, 
From the river winding clearly, 
Down to tower'd Camelot ; 



72 The Lady of Shalott. 

And by the moon the reaper weary, 
Piling sheaves in uplands airy, 
Listening, whispers " ' T is the fairy 
Lady of Shalott." 

PART II. 

There she weaves by night and day 
A magic web with colors gay. 
She has heard a whisper say, 
A curse is on her if she stay 

To look down to Camelot. 
She knows not what the curse may be, 
And so she weaveth steadily, 
And little other care hath she, 

The Lady of Shalott. 

And moving thro' a mirror clear 
That hangs before her all the year, 
Shadows of the world appear. 
There she sees the highway near 

Winding down to Camelot; 
There the river eddy whirls, 
And there the surly village- churls, 
And the red cloaks of market-girls, 

Pass onward from Shalott. 

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, 
An abbot on an ambling pad, 
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, 
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, 
Goes by to tower'd Camelot ; 



The Lady of Shalott. 73 

And sometimes thro' the mirror blue 
The knights come riding two and two ; 
She hath no loyal knight and true, 
The Lady of Shalott. 

But in her web she still delights 
To weave the mirror's magic sights, 
For often thro' the silent nights 
A funeral, with plumes and lights, 

And music, went to Camelot : 
Or when the moon was overhead, 
Came two young lovers lately wed : 
" I am half sick of shadows 1 ' said 

The Lady of Shalott. 

PART III. 
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, 
He rode between the barley sheaves, 
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, 
And flamed upon the brazen greaves 

Of bold Sir Lancelot. 
A red-cross knight for ever knecTd 
To a lady in his shield, 
That sparkled on the yellow field, 

Beside remote Shalott. 

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, 
Like to some branch of stars we see 
Hung in the golden Galaxy. 
The bridle bells rang merrily 

As he rode down to Camelot ; 



74 The Lady of Shalott. 

And from his blazon'd baldric slung 
A mighty silver bugle hung, 
And as he rode his armor rung, 
Beside remote Shalott. 

All in the blue unclouded weather 
Thick-jewelPd shone the saddle-leather. 
The helmet and the helmet-feather 
Burned like one burning flame together, 

As he rode down to Camelot \ 
As often through the purple night, 
Below the starry clusters bright, 
Some bearded meteor, trailing light, 

Moves over still Shalott. 

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd ; 
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode ; 
From underneath his helmet flow'd 
His coal-black curls as on he rode, 

As he rode down to Camelot. 
From the bank and from the river 
He flashed into the crystal mirror, 
" Tirra lirra " by the river 

Sang Sir Lancelot. 

She left the web, she left the loom. 
She made three paces thro' the room, 
She saw the water-lily bloom, 
She saw the helmet and the plume, 
She looked down to Camelot. 



The Lady of Shalott. 75 

Out flew the web and floated wide; 
The mirror cracked from side to side ; 
" The curse is come upon me," cried 
The Lady of Shalott. 

PART IV. 

In the stormy east-wind straining, 

The pale yellow woods are waning, 

The broad stream in his banks complaining, 

Heavily the low sky raining 

Over tower'd Camelot ; 
Down she came and found a boat 
Beneath a willow left afloat, 
And round about the prow she wrote 

The Lady of Shalott. 

And down the river's dim expanse 
Like some bold seer in a trance, 
Seeing all his own mischance — 
With a glassy countenance 

Did she look to Camelot. 
And at the closing of the day 
She loosed the chain, and down she lay ; 
The broad stream bore her far away, 

The Lady of Shalott. 

Lying, robed in snowy white 
That loosely flew to left and right — 
The leaves upon her falling light — 
Thro' the noises of the night 

She floated down to Camelot ; 



76 The Lady of Shalott. 

And as the boat-head wound along 
The willowy hills and fields among, 
They heard her singing her last song, 
The Lady of Shalott. 

Heard a carol, mournful, holy, 
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, 
Till her blood was frozen slowly, 
And her eyes were darken'd wholly, 

Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. 
For ere she reach'd upon the tide 
The first house by the water-side, 
Singing in her song she died. 

The Lady of Shalott. 

Under tower and balcony, 

By garden- wall and gallery, 

A gleaming shape she floated by, 

Dead-pale between the houses high. 

Silent into Camelot. 
Out upon the wharfs they came, 
Knight and burgher, lord and dame, 
And round the prow they read her name, 

The Lady of Shalott. 

Who is this ? and what is here ? 
And in the lighted palace near 
Died the sound of royal cheer ; 
And they cross'd themselves for fear, 
All the knights at Camelot : 



If We Had the Time. 77 

But Lancelot mused a little space ; 
He said " She has a lovely face ; 
God in his mercy lend her grace, 
The Lady of Shalott." 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



IF WE HAD THE TIME. 

IF I had the time to find a place 
And sit me down full face to face 

With my better self, that cannot show 

In my daily life that rushes so : 
It might be then I would see my soul 
Was stumbling still towards the shining goal, 

I might be nerved by the thought sublime, — 
If I had the time ! 



If I had the time to let my heart 

Speak out and take in my life apart. 

To look about and to stretch a hand 
To a comrade quartered in no-luck land ; 

Ah, God ! If I might but just sit still 

And hear the note of the whip-poor-will, 

I think that my wish with God's would rhyme ■ 
If I had the time ! 



78 A Scene from King Henry IV. 

If I had the time to learn from you 
How much for comfort my word could do ; 
And I told you then of my sudden will 
To kiss your feet when I did you ill ; 
If the tears aback of the coldness feigned 
Could flow, and the wrong be quite explained, — 
Brothers, the souls of us all would chime, 
If we had the time ! 

Richard Burton. 



A SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV. 

" FALSTAFFS RECRUITS." 

Introduction. — Sir John Falstaff has received a 
commission from the King to raise a company of 
soldiers to fight in the King's battles. After drafting 
a number of well-to-do farmers, who he knows will 
pay him snug sums of money rather than to serve 
under him, he pockets their money and proceeds to fill 
his company from the riff-raff of the country through 
which he passes. 

The scene is a village green before Justice Shallow's 
house. The Justice has received word from Sir John 
that he is about to visit him, and desires him to call 
together a number of the villagers from which recruits 
may be selected. 

These villagers are now grouped upon the green, 
with Justice Shallow standing near. 



A Scene from King Henry IV. 79 

Bardolph, Sir John Falstaff' s corporal, enters and 
addresses Justice Shallow. 

Bardolph, — Good morrow, honest gentlemen. I 
oeseech you, which is Justice Shallow? 

Shallow. — I am Robert Shallow, sir ; a poor esquire 
of this county, and one of the King's justices of the 
peace. What is your good pleasure with me ? 

Bardolph. — My captain, sir, commends bim to you ; 
my captain, Sir John Falstaff, a tall gentlemen, by 
heaven, and a most gallant leader. 

Shallora, — He greets me well, sir. I knew him 
a good backsword man. How doth the good Knight 
now? Look! here comes good Sir John. {Enter 
Falstaff.) Give me your good hand, give me your 
worship's good hand. By my troth you look well and 
bear your years very well ; welcome, good Sir John. 

Falstaff. — I am glad to see you well, good Master 
Robert Shallow. Fie, this is hot weather, gentlemen. 
Have you provided me with half a dozen sufficient 
men? 

Shallow. — Marry have we, sir. 

Falstaff. — Let me see them, I beseech you. 

Shallow. — Where's the roll? Where's the roll? 
Where 's the roll? Let me see, let me see, let me see. 
So, so, so, so, so, so, so; yea, marry sir. — Ralph 
Mouldy ! Let them appear as I call ; let them do so, 
let them do so. Let me see ; where is Mouldy? 

Mouldy. — Here, an 't please you. 

Shallow. — Wha* think you, Sir John? A good 
limbed fellow ; young, strong, and of good friends. 



80 A Scene from King Henry IV. 

Falstaff. — Is thy name Mouldy? 

Mouldy, — Yea, an 't please you. 

Falstaff. — 'T is the more time thou wert used. 

Shallow. — Ha, ha, ha ! most excellent, i' faith ! 
Things that are mouldy lack use ; very singular good ! 
Well said, Sir John, very well said. Shall I prick him, 
Sir John? 

Falstaff. — Yes, prick him. 

Mouldy. — I was pricked well enough before, an' 
you could have let me alone ; my old dame will be 
undone now for one to do her husbandry and her 
drudgery ; you need not to have pricked me ; there 
are other men fitter to go out than I. 

Shallow. — Peace, fellow, peace ! Stand aside ; 
know you where you are ? For the next, Sir John ; 
let me see. — Simon Shadow ! 

Falstaff. — Yea, marry, let me have him to sit 
under. He ? s like to be a cold soldier. 

Shallow. — Where 's Shadow ? 

Shadow. — Here, sir. 

Falstaff. — Shadow, whose son art thou? 

Shadow. — My mother's son, sir. 

Falstaff. — Thy mother's son ! Like enough, and 
thy father's shadow. Prick him. Shadow will serve 
for summer. 

Shallow. — Thomas Wart ! 

Falstaff. — Where's he? 

Wart. — Here, sir ! 

Falstaff. — Is thy name Wart ? 

Wart. — Yea, sir. 



A Scene from King Henry IV. 81 

Falstaff. — Thou art a very ragged wart. 

Shallow, — Ha, ha, ha ! Shall I prick him down, 
Sir John? 

Falstaff. — It were superfluous ; for his apparel is 
built upon his back and the whole frame stands upon 
pins ; prick him no more. 

Shallow. — Ha, ha, ha ! you can do it, sir ; you 
can do it ; I commend you well. — Francis Feeble. 

Feeble. — Here, sir. 

Falstaff. — What trade art thou, Feeble ? 

Feeble. — I 'm a woman's tailor, sir. 

Falstaff. — Well, good woman's tailor, wilt thou 
make as many holes in an enemy's battle as thou hast 
done in a woman's petticoat? 

Feeble. — I will do my good will, sir ; you can have 
no more. 

Falstaff. — Well said, good woman's tailor ! Well 
said, courageous Feeble ! Thou wilt be as valiant 
as the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse. 
Prick me the woman's tailor well, Master Shallow; 
deep, Master Shallow. 

Feeble. — I would Wart might have gone, too, sir. 

Falstaff. — I would thou wert a man's tailor, that 
thou mightst mend him and make him fit to go. Let 
that suffice, most forcible Feeble. 

Feeble. — It shall suffice, sir. 

Falstaff. — I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble, 
Who is next? 

Shallow. — Peter Bullcalf, o' the green. 

Falstaff. — Yea, marry, let 's see Bullcalf. 



82 A Scene from King Henry IV. 

Bullcalf. — Here, sir. 

Falstaff. — Fore God, a likely fellow ! Come, 
prick me Bullcalf till he roar again. 

Bullcalf. — O Lord ! Good my lord captain, — 

Falstaff. — What, dost thou roar before thou art 
pricked? 

Bullcalf. — O Lord, sir ! I 'm a diseased man. 

Falstaff. — What disease hast thou ? 

Bullcalf. — A terrible cold, sir, a cough , sir. 

Falstaff. — Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a 
gown. We will have away with thy cold. Is here all? 

Shallow. — Here is two more than your number. 
You must have but four here, sir; and so, I pray you, 
go in with me to dinner. 

Falstaff. — Come, 1 will go drink with you. 
{Exit Sir John and Justice Shallow.} 

Bullcalf. — {Approaching Bar dolph.) Good Mas- 
ter Corporate Eardolph, stand my friend ; and here 's 
four Harry ten shilling in French crowns for you. In 
very truth, sir, 1 'd as lief be hanged, sir, as to go ; 
and yet for mine own part, sir, I do not care ; but 
rather because I am unwilling, and, for mine own 
part, have a desire to stay with my friends ; else, sir, 
I did not care, for mine own part, so much. 

Bardolph. — {Pocketing the money.) Go to ; 
stand aside. 

Feeble. — By my troth . I care not. 

W 7 illiam Shakespeare . 



A Scene from David Copperfield. 33 



A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD- 

AT THE LODGINGS OF MR. AND MRS. MICAWBER. 

Introduction. — The scene opens in the lodgings of 
Mr. and Mrs. Micawber. Mr. Micawber at this time 
is suffering under, what he terms, " A temporary 
pressure of pecuniary liabilities," and is out looking 
for something to turn up. 

Mrs. Micawber is at home attending to the twins, 
one of which she is holding in her arms, the other is 
in the cradle near by, and various of the children are 
scattered about the floor. 

Mrs. Micawber has been bothered all the morning 
by the calling of creditors ; — at last she exclaims, as 
she trots the babe in her arms : — 

{Mrs. Micawber.) Well, I wonder how many 
more times they will be calling ! However, it 's their 
fault. If Mr. Micawber's creditors won't give him 
time, they must take the consequences. Oh ! there 
is some one knocking now ! I believe that 's Mr. 
Heep's knock. It is Mr. Heep ! Come in, Mr. 
Heep. We are very glad to see you. Come right in. 

Heep. — Is Mr. Micawber in? 

Mrs. Mic. — No, Mr. Heep. Mr. Micawber has 
gone out. We make no stranger of you, Mr. Heep, 
so I don't mind telling you Mr. Micawber's affairs 
have reached a crisis. With the exception of a heel 



84 A Scene from David Copperfield. 

of Dutch cheese, which is not adapted to the wants 
of a young family, — and including the twins, — there 
is nothing to eat in the house. 

Heep. — How dreadful ! {Aside.) The very man 
for my purpose. (Explanation. At this moment 
there is a noise heard on the landing. Micawber 
himself rushes into the room, slamming the door 
behind him.) 

Micawber. — (Not seeing Heep.) The clouds have 
gathered, the storm has broken, and the thunderbolt 
has fallen on the devoted head of Wilkins Micawber ! 
Emma, my dear, the die is cast. All is over. Leave 
me in my misery 1 

Mrs. Mic. — I '11 never desert my Micawber ! 

Mic. — In the words of the immortal Plato, " It 
must be so, Cato ! " But no man is without a friend 
when he is possessed of courage and shaving mate- 
rials ! Emma, my love, fetch me my razors ! (Recov- 
ers himself) sh — sh ! We are not alone ! ( Gayly) 
Oh, Mr. Heep ! Delighted to see you, my young 
friend ! Ah, my dear young attorney-general, in pro- 
spective, if I had only known you when my troubles 
commenced, my creditors would have been a great 
deal better managed than they were ! You will par- 
don the momentary laceration of a wounded spirit, 
made sensitive by a recent collision with a minion of 
the law, — in short, with a ribald turncock attached 
to the waterworks. Emma, my love, our supply of 
water has been cut off. Hope has sunk beneath the 
horizon ! Bring me a pint of laudanum ! 



A Scene from David Copperfield. 85 

Heep. — Mr. Micawber. would you be willing to tell 
me the amount of your indebtedness ? 

Mic. — It is only a ^mall matter for nutriment, 
beef, mutton, etc., some trifle, seven and six pence 
ha'penny. 

Heep. — I '11 pay it for you. 

Mic. — My dear friend ! You overpower me with 
obligation ! Shall I admit the officer? (Turns and 
goes to the door, opens it.) Enter, myrmidon ! Hats 
off, in the presence of a solvent debtor and a lady. 
(Heep pays the officer and dismisses him.) 

Heep. — Now, Mr. Micawber, I suppose you have no 
objection to giving me your I. O. IL for the amount. 

Mic. — Certainly not. I am always ready to put my 
name to any species of negotiable paper, from twenty 
shillings upward. Excuse me, Heep, I '11 write it. 
(Goes through motion of writing it on leaf of memo, 
book, l^ears it out and hands it to Heep.) I sup- 
pose this is renewable on the usual term? 

Heep. — Better. You can work it out. I come to 
offer you the position of clerk in my partner's office — 
the firm of Wickfield and Heep. 

Mic. — What ! A clerk ! Emma, my love, I be- 
lieve I may have no hesitation in saying something 
has at last turned up ! 

Heep. — You will excuse me, Mrs. Micawber, but I 
should like to speak a few words to your husband in 
private. 

Mrs. Mic. — Certainly ! Wilkins, my love, go on 
and prosper ! 



86 A Scene from David Copperfield. 

Mic. — My dear, I shall endeavor to do so to an 
unlimited extent ! Ah, the sun has again risen — the 
clouds have passed — the sky is clear, and another 
score maybe begun at the butcher's. — Heep, pre- 
cede me. Emma, my love. Au Revoir. 

(A gallant bow to Mrs. Micawber.) 



A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD. 

CHARACTERS. 

Old Fisherman Peggotty, 

Ham Peggotty, 

David Copperfield. 

Introduction. — The scene is the interior of the 
" Old Ark " ; the time is evening. The rain is falling 
outside, yet inside the old ark all is snug and comfort- 
able. The fire is burning brightly on the hearth, and 
Mother Gummidge sits by it knitting. Ham has 
gone out to fetch Little EmTy home from her work, 
— and the old fisherman sits smoking his evening 
pipe by the table near the window. They are expect- 
ing Steerforth and Copperfield in to spend the even- 
ing. Presently a knock is heard and David enters. 
Old Peggotty gets up to greet him. 

Old Peg. — Why ! It 's Mas'r Davy ! Glad to see 
you, Mas'r Davy, you 're the first of the lot ! Take 
off that cloak of yours if it's wet and draw right up to 



A Scene from David Copperfield . 87 

the fire. Don't you mind Mawther Gummidge, Mas'r 
Davy; she 's a-thinkin' of the old 'un. She alltrs do 
be thinkin' of the old 'un when there 's a storm 
a-comin' up, along of his havin' been drownded at 
sea. Well, now, I must go and light up accordin' to 
custom. {He lights a candle and puts it on the 
table by the window?) Theer we are ! Theer we are ! 
A-lighted up accordin' to custom. Now, Mas'r Davy, 
you're a-wonderin' what that little candle is for, ain't 
yer? Well, I'll tell yer. It's for my Little Em'ly. 
You see, the path ain't o'er light or cheeriul arter 
dark, so when I 'm home here along the time that 
Little Em'ly comes home from her work, I allers 
lights the little candle and puts it there on the table 
in the winder, and it serves two purposes, — first, 
Em'ly sees it and she says: " Theer 's home," and 
likewise, " Theer 's Uncle," fur if I ain't here I never 
have no light showed. Theer ! Now you 're laughin' 
at me, Mas'r Davy ! You 're a sayin' as how I ! m a 
babby. Well, I don't know but I am. {Walks 
towards table?) Not a babby to look at, but a babby 
to consider on. A babby in the form of a Sea Porky- 
pine. 

See the candle sparkle! I can hear it say — 
"EmTy's lookin' at me! Little Em'ly 's comin' ! " 
Right I am for here she is ! {He goes to the door to 
meet her ; the door opens and Ham comes staggering in.) 

Ham. — She's gone ! Her that I'da died fur, and 
will die fur even now ! She 's gone ! 

Peggotty. — Gone ! ! 



88 A Scene from David Copperfield. 

Ham. — Gone ! She 's run away ! And think how 
she 's run away when I pray my good and gracious 
God to strike her down dead, sooner than let her 
come to disgrace and shame. 

Peggotty. — Em'ly gone ! I '11 not believe it. I 
must have proof — proof. 

Ham. — Read that writin'. 

Peggotty. — - No S I won't read that writin' — read 
it you, Mas'r Davy. Slow, please. I don't know as 
I can understand. 

David. — (Reads.') "When you see this I shall 
be far away." 

Peggotty. — Stop theer, Mas'r Davy ! Stop theer ! 
Fur away ! My Little Em'ly fur away ! Well? 

David. — (Reads) '• Never to* come back again 
unless he brings me back a lady. Don't remember, 
Ham, that we were to be married, but try to think of 
me as if I had died long ago, and was buried some- 
where. My last love and last tears for Uncle." 

Peggotty. — Who's the man? W r hat's his name? 
I want to know the man's name. 

Ham. — It war n't no fault o' yours, Mas'r Davy, 
that I know. 

Peggotty. — What! You don't mean his name's 
Steerforth, do you? 

Ham. — Yes ! His name is Steerforth, and he 's a 
cursed villain ! 

Peggotty. — Where 's my coat? Give me my coat ! 
Help me on wih it, Mas'r Davy. Now bear a hand 
theer with my hat. 



A Scene from the Shaughraun. 89 

David. — Where are you going, Mr. Peggotty? 

Peggotty. — I'm a goin' to seek fur my little Em'ly. 
First, I 'm going to stave in that theer boat and sink 
it where I'd a drownded him, as I'm a livin' soul ; 
if I 'd a known what he had in him ! I'da drownded 
him, and thought I was doin' right ! Now I'm going 
to seek fur my Little Em'ly throughout the wide 
wurreld ! 

A SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN- 

Introduction, — This scene introduces the follow- 
ing characters : — Conn, the Shaughraun, a reckless, 
devil-may-care, true-hearted young vagabond, who is 
continually in a scrape from his desire to help a friend 
and his love of fun; his mother, Mrs. O'Kelly; his 
sweetheart, Moya Dolan, niece of the parish priest. 

It is evening. Moya is alone in the kitchen. She 
has just put the kettle on the fire when Mrs. O'Kelly, 
Conn's mother, enters. 

Mrs. O'K. — Is it yourself, Moya? I've come to 
see if that vagabond of mine has been round this way. 

Moya. — Why should he be here, Mrs. O'Kelly? 
Has n't he a home of his own? 

Mrs. O y K. — The Shebeen is his home when he is 
not in jail His father died o' drink, and Conn will 
go the same way. 

Moya. — I thought your husband was drowned at 
sea? 



90 A Scene from the Shaughraun. 

Mrs. O'K. — And bless him, so he was. 

Moya. — Well, that 's a quare way o' dyin# o' drink. 

Mrs. CPK. — The best of men he was, when he was 
sober — a betther never dhrawed the breath o' life. 

Moya. — But you say he never was sober. 

Mrs. O'K. — Niver ! An' Conn takes afther him ! 

Moya. — Mother, I 'm af eared I shall take afther 
Conn. 

Mrs. O'K. — Heaven forbid, and purtect you agin 
him ! You a good dacint gurl, and desarve the best 
of husbands. 

Moya. — Them 's the only ones that gets the worst. 
More betoken yoursilf, Mrs. O'Kelly. 

Mrs. CPK. — Conn niver did an honest day's work 
in his life — but dhrinkin' an' fishin', an' shootin', an' 
sportin', and love-makin'. 

Moya. — Sure, that 's how the quality pass their 
lives. 

Mrs. O'K. — - That 's it. A poor man that sports 
the sowl of a gintleman is called a blackguard. 

(At this moment Conn appears in the doorway.) 

Conn. — (At left.) Some one is talkin' about me ! 
Ah, Moya, Darlin', come here. (Business as if he 
reached out his hands to Moya as he comes forward 
to meet her, and passes her over to his left so he 
seems to stand in center between Moya on left and 
Mrs. O'Kelly on right.) Was the old Mother thryin' 
to make little o' me? Don't you belave a word that 
comes out o' her ! She 's jealous o' me. (Laughing 
as he shakes his finger at his mother.) Yes, ye are ! 



A Scene from the Shaughraun. 91 

You 're chokin' wid it this very minute ! Oh, Moya 
darlin'. she's jealous to see my two arms about ye. 
But she 's proud o' me. Oh, she 's proud o' me as an 
old hin that's got a duck for a chicken. Howld 
your whist now Mother ! Wipe your mouth and give 
me a kiss. 

Mrs. O'K. — Oh, Conn, what have you been afther ? 
The polis have been in the cabin to-day about ye. 
They say you stole Squire Foley's hone. 

Conn. — Stole his horse ! Sure the baste is safe 
and sound in his paddock this minute. 

Mrs. O'K. — But he says you stole it for the day to 
go huntin' ? 

Conn, — Well, here's a purty thing, for a horse to 
run away wid a man's characther like this ! Oh, 
Wurra ! may I niver die in sin, but this was the way 
of it. . I was standin' by owld Foley's gate, whin I 
heard the cry of the hounds coming across the tail of 
the bog, an' there they wor, my dear, spread out like 
the tail of a paycock, an' the finest dog fox ye ever 
seen a sailin' ahead of thim up the boreen, and right 
across the churchyard. It was enough to raise the 
inhabitints out of the ground ! Well, as I looked, 
who should come and put his head over the gate 
besoide me but the Squire's brown mare, small blame 
to her. Divil a word I said to her, nor she to me, for 
the hounds had lost their scent, we knew by their 
yelp and whine as they hunted among the grave- 
stones. When, whist ! the fox went by us. I leapt 
upon the gate, an' gave a shriek of a view-halloo to 



92 A Scene from the Shaughraun. 

the whip ; in a minute the pack caught the scent 
again, an' the whole field came roaring past. 

The mare lost her head entoirely and tore at the 
gate. " Stop ", says I, " ye divil ! " an' I slipt a taste 
of a rope over her kead an' into her mouth. Now 
mind the cunnin' of the baste, she was quiet in a 
minute. "Come home, now," ses I, "aisy !" an' I 
threw my leg across her. 

Be jabbers ! No sooner was I on her back than — 
Whoo ! Holy Rocket ! she was over the gate, an* 
tearin' afther the hounds loike mad. " Yoicks ! " ses 
I ; " Come back you thafe of the world, where you 
takin' me to?" as she carried me through the huntin' 
field, an' landed me by the soide of the masther of 
the hounds, Squire Foley himself. 

He turned the color of his leather breeches, 
" Mother o' Moses ! " ses he, " Is that Conn, the 
Shaughraun, on my brown mare?" 

" Bad luck to me ! " ses I, " It 's no one else ! " 

"You sthole my horse," ses the Squire. 

" That 's a lie ! " ses I, " for it was your horse sthole 
me!" 

Moya, — {Laughing.) And what did he say to 
that, Conn? 

Conn. — I couldn't stop to hear, Moya, for just 
then we took a stone wall together an' I left him 
behind in the ditch. 

Mrs. O'K. — You'll get a month in jail for this. 

Conn. — Well, it was worth it. 

BOUCICAULT. 



OCT 8 1S05 



